His Pet
by JellyBellys
Summary: The War is won by the wrong side, and Katie Bell is owned by a certain Death Eater. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **_I don't own HP, blah de blah de blah. If I did, do you think I would have EVER written Ginny Sue? _

**Author Notes: **_This was written for Overcoming Rivalry on livejournal, as part of a fic exchange. A gift for Blondesimone._**  
**

"I'm not wearing that—that _thing_," Katie snapped, her disgust and horror evident.

It was bad enough she was stuck wearing that gaudy collar-- true, she was luckier than most; the majority of the other Muggleborns had to wear the standard steel collar around their necks. Particularly sadistic owners added spikes and embellishments, or had crude words etched into the metal. These were the ones who made their pets wear clothing that flaunted the collar at all times.

There were kinder masters who traded in the heavy steel for plain leather bands, and the owners fondest of their pets used even nicer alternatives. Silk, satin, lace…Nott had Hermione Granger wearing a simple platinum band, an opal hanging from the center.

Katie's was the most ostentatious, of course. It was a heavy, ornate silver choker, embedded with ridiculously huge, gaudy emeralds and an all too pointed serpent as the centerpiece. It was a mix between a snide, constant reminder of her place and…well, she thought he actually meant it to maker her feel like she _wasn't_ his pet, that they were perhaps boyfriend and girlfriend, maybe even newlyweds. But _this_ was too much.

"I utterly refuse. It is _vile_," she spat. "I'm not going to prance around in that trashy getup that Daphne Greengrass would dub too trampy."

Flint continued to hold up the offending garment, his grinning face displaying his mangled teeth to full effect.

"What's wrong with it, Katie?" he asked, attempting (and failing utterly) to look innocent. "I thought you'd enjoy wearing some of your Muggle things."

"I would **never** pick out that- that god-awful _thing_," Katie pointed at said thing indignantly.

It was truly horrifying. She supposed it was a dress, in the loosest sense of the word. A dark emerald color that matched her necklace, it was a hideous combination of lace and beads and sequins and plunging necklines. It was so short it could pass as a shirt, and Flint wanted her to wear it where the other Death Eaters could **see** her! They already leered at her enough.

Marcus always had her in the most expensive, elegant robes, making sure she looked as distinguished as the pureblood witches; even such figures as Narcissa Malfoy. The rest of the other pet Mudbloods were dressed one of three ways: barely (or not at all), in filthy rags a house-elf wouldn't touch, or cleanly and understated.

Then there was the fact that with so many pets mistreated and tortured, with all the inbred pureblood women generally less than attractive, her formerly slightly pretty self had now leapt to stunning. Coupled with Marcus's insane desire to have her be the most noticeable female within the entire fortress (save Bellatrix Lestrange, nobody could top her) this made her the most talked about, the most leered at, the most bargained for pet of all. Lucky for her, Marcus refused all offers to either sell her or even "loan her" to another Death Eater temporarily, no matter how tempting the offer. It made her grateful to Flint, which was all the more infuriating, since Katie had realized that must've been his intent all along.

Certainly, Marcus didn't seem to enjoy thee crude comments and the rude staring any more than she did. After the fifth black eye, the third broken nose, and the second broken jaw, the Death Eaters had learned to control themselves when Flint was around. When he wasn't…she always spent most of her time fingering her collar gratefully. The collars broke the pet's spirit and dehumanized them, but they weren't without their benefits.

A pet with a collar clearly had an owner, an owner who didn't share without giving their express permission. The collar kept them unable to do magic, but also unable to be touched by anyone except their masters. Sometimes, Katie thought that that was the reason Flint had given her the ludicrously flashy collar; it was as good as branding "Property of Marcus Flint" on her forehead.

That was why it made absolutely **zero sense** for Flint to want her to wear such a revealing thing to dinner; it would enrage him to see the other men undressing her with their eyes.

"Won't you get in trouble for letting me wear Muggle clothing anyway?" Katie asked coldly, folding her arms in front of her.

"Have you forgotten the date, darling?" Flint sneered. "It's Halloween. And we're going to the party dressed as a happy Muggle couple." He shook the dress at her.

"Why in the bloody **_hell_** would…" Katie shuddered, "would _He_ want to celebrate the night he lost his body because of Harry?"

"Well, Potter's dead now, isn't he?" Marcus shrugged negligently. "Besides, he won't be there anyway. Now, I won't tell you again," Flint said, and here, his former playful manner evaporated, and he looked every inch the killer that he was, "Put. It. On." He tossed it at her, Katie catching it one-handed.

Her heart sunk. So he wasn't in a mood where it amused him to have her talk back to him. Every time she was made to obey him a little piece of her died inside.

"Come on, don't want to be late," Marcus said, removing his robes unashamedly to reveal the powerful body underneath. He began pulling on respectable, normal Muggle clothing; a dark green dress shirt and black trousers.

Katie looked away from him as she began removing her robes. Even after all this time—how long had it been, anyway? Months? She still felt uncomfortable with Marcus seeing her nude. It was a bit preposterous of her, and it amused Flint greatly. He seemed to revel in what he called her "innocent Gryffindor ways;" the twisted bastard.

Katie began pulling on the horrid travesty posing as a dress, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

The large pair of hands that grasped her shoulders startled her. Marcus had snuck up behind her, and he was caressing her shoulders in smooth motions. He pushed the top half of the dress off and let it hang at her waist.

"None of this," he said quietly, as his hands shoved her bra straps off of her shoulders, undoing the clasp, leaving her topless.

Katie stood stock still as his hands roamed freely over her breasts, his huge, rough hands warm and surprisingly gentle. Right when she was beginning to relax and lean back against him, he abruptly stopped and pulled the dress back onto her shoulders.

What was he playing at? He was acting so incredibly odd. But then, that was what Katie had learned above all else since she had been captured; never underestimate Flint's ability to be unpredictable.

Now his hands were running down her sides, the thin material of the dress doing little to stop the burn of his hands on her. Very quickly he reached the hem of her dress, (it really was outrageously short) and his hands grabbed the material and pulled upwards, until the clingy fabric bunched around her waist.

"None of this either," Flint said, his voice still soft, as he pulled off her knickers.

Running his hands lightly back up her thighs after disposing of her undergarments, causing her to shiver against her will, Flint righted her dress and placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

Katie was so bewildered at this inexplicable behavior that she stood stunned into silence as he stepped away from her to pick up a pair of shoes designed for the express purpose of torturing the wearer. That snapped her out of it.

"Flint, I really meant it this time, I won't wear those," she said irritably. "I can't even handle small heels; those things will break my bloody ankles."

"I won't let you stumble," Flint said gruffly, not meeting her eyes.

Madness. It was pure madness. He must've finally snapped. Well, best not provoke an insane man. The heels went on grudgingly.

"Shall we?" Flint said mockingly, holding out his arm to her.

Now THIS Flint she could deal with. She was used to this cold-eyed, mocking bastard who loved to humiliate her, to make her beg.

Katie tossed her hair with a defiant sniff, before linking her arm through Flint's. Bloody **hell** this get up was horrid. She was a bit on the tall side to begin with, and the shortness of her dress coupled with the teetering height of her heels made her legs appear to be six miles long. This was going to be a disaster.

Flint yanked her behind a tapestry and into a tiny, seldom used corridor, and slammed her against the stone wall, knocking the breath out of her.

He began to frantically kiss her and grope her, and Katie's horror at the thought of anyone coming back her and seeing them was far outweighed by her deep, fervent gratitude from leaving the party.

It had been all she had thought and more. It seemed most of the pets had been mockingly dressed as Hogwart's schoolgirls (and schoolboys) their old houses cruelly emblazoned on the uniforms to serve as a reminder of what they had lost.

Katie, however, had been the main attraction in the zoo. Everywhere she went she was met with lusty gazes, crude remarks, and was visually raped over and over again. Every straight man she encountered had something appreciative to say about her to Marcus, and a few women as well. Millicent Bulstrode had been eying her all night in a thoroughly unnerving manner.

The worst by far had been Marcus's old Hogwart's cronies; mainly composed of the boys she had competed against (and beaten) in Quidditch. She knew how much they loved seeing her brought low; a little Gryffindor princess made to be a dirty Slytherin boy's whore, his little show pony to be steered around and paraded in front of them.

She had never felt more like Marcus's pet than she had tonight. It wasn't just the fact that he had not left her alone for a single second, had not even removed his arm from around her waist once, but the fact that she was _grateful_ he had done so.

The fact that she was _glad _he was there to serve as her large, menacing bodyguard when the comments and the looks became too overt. She was relieved by that collar and the invisible leash he had her on, relieved by the obvious ownership of herself to him.

And for that, she could never forgive him. She could never forgive him for making her have some sort of twisted, confusing feelings for him that had nothing to do with her relief at being alive and unharmed, at not being enslaved to someone like Walden Macnair, or worse; being a member of the harem.

She kissed Marcus back fiercely, aggressively, even angrily. Katie never responded to his physical advances this way, and she knew he was reeling from this unexpected occurrence.

"Bell," Flint mumbled, half gasping, into her neck.

He grabbed her and lifted her effortlessly, pushing her up and against the wall. Katie wrapped her legs around him, grinding eagerly against him. He bit her neck hard with his jagged teeth, and leaned up to kiss her again, tugging roughly on her hair, grinding back against her brutally.

"Did you like it?" he hissed at her, the first words he had spoken directly to her all night; not counting one mumbling of her last name.

"What?" she said foggily.

What in blazes was he going on about? Had he or had he not dragged her back here to shag her rotten; and now, when she was wet and knickerless and practically begging him for it, he had decided it was time for a little chat.

"Did you **like it**, **_Katie_**?" he spat her name out like a vile curse, his dark eyes hard and unfathomable.

His expression was terrifying; she had never seen him look angrier, not even after losing to Gryffindor at Quidditch.

Immediately, her body went cold, her motions ceased. She attempted to place her feet back on the ground, but Flint was refusing to let her.

"What are you babbling about, Flint?" she spat back. "Did I like **_what_**?"

"Did you like them all staring at you, wanting you?" Marcus elaborated, his eyes boring holes into her, his teeth bared. "Did you like how they all wanted to fuck you right there, how they could all see you practically naked?"

Staring at him, Katie revised her opinion. Mad, completely mad. She had been right before.

Even more alarming, Marcus dropped his voice into what she thought of as his "seductive drawl" and leaned in closer to her.

"You did like it, didn't you, Bell? How every single one of those stupid Slytherin bastards was imagining your legs wrapped around them like this, imagining how you look when you come?" Flint's hands were digging into her hips, the wall painfully jabbing into her back.

She struggled until she was back on her feet, on the horrible heels.

"Have you gone daft, Flint?" Katie hissed, attempting to shove him away from her. "One too many bludgers to the head? Maybe someone got in a good hit on you on the last raid?"

"Don't play dumb, Bell," he snarled, "you're a horrible liar. I thought Gryffindor girls were all pureness and light and innocence, and here you are, pretending you didn't love having them all at your feet. Didn't you _hear_ what Warrington was saying about you? What Bletchley was?"

"Of course I heard, you bastard, I'm not deaf," Katie retorted, furious. "What is **wrong** with you, Flint? Have you forgotten it was you who made me dress up like your pet whore? That it was you getting off on parading your little Gryffindor sex slave around to your mates?"

He stared at her silently, his expression unreadable.

"For God's sake, Marcus!" Katie said, exasperated. "How can you think that I enjoyed that? That was the most humiliated, the most degraded I've ever been in my entire life! I wanted to vomit every time one of those monsters looked at me!"

He was silent, but he stepped back slightly, staring intently, almost desperately into her eyes.

"Do you really mean that?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes, you idiot!" Katie snapped. "I knew you weren't the brightest wand in the store, Flint, but this is ridiculous! How could you—"

He cut her off mid rant by apparating them away back into their chambers.

"Ugh…" Katie moaned, dizzy and staggering. "Could you at least warn me when you're going to do that, Flint?"

He responded by picking her up and half throwing her onto their bed.

Katie's breath whooshed out of her lungs with a gasp, and Flint yanked off his shirt in one quick move, and then removed both of their shoes before she had even regained her breath. He pushed her onto her back and loomed over her.

"You hated it?" he asked quietly.

Katie stared at him. He was dead serious, and shockingly vulnerable.

"Yes, Marcus," she responded quietly. "Why did you make me do that?"

Furrowing his brow in confusion, he responded, "I don't know."

Hesitantly, afraid for another drastic mood swing to overtake him, Katie leaned up and captured his mouth with hers, her arms winding around his neck.

In a flash, the strip of cloth posing as a dress was gone, and Flint had one breast in his mouth, the other cupped in his hand.

Arching her back with a gasp, Katie tugged at his hair, attempting to bring him back up to kiss her again. Ignoring her completely, Marcus kissed every inch of her skin to her belly button, before dipping his tongue into her navel briefly before moving on. Teasingly, maddeningly, he placed kisses and bites on her inner thighs, her lower abdomen, everywhere but where she really wanted him.

"Marcus…" Katie pleaded, her voice strangled.

Instead of complying, he sat up, removing his belt, then his trousers. He grasped her legs, moving them further apart, before he finally thrust inside.

They moved together, their motions familiar and their voices silent, except for gasps and moans.

When it was all over, Marcus rolled off of her and her breathing and her heartbeat returned to normal. She had her head on his chest, and he was absentmindedly caressing her back, both of them sated and sweaty.

Marcus unexpectedly broke the silence.

"Katie?" he asked, his voice strange and unreadable. "If you didn't have this," his finger stroked the collar around her neck, "would you have ever let me touch you?"

Katie opened her mouth to answer, and discovered she did not know what to say.


End file.
